Comfort In The Pain
by iorwen
Summary: Sex on fur rug in front of a fire


Brienne motioned for Jaime to take a seat on the only soft surface in the small room that served as shelter that night, a bear skin rug. She grimaced as he lowered himself down with an audible grunt of pain. They had been running from Lady Stoneheart and the men who did her bidding for weeks until they could run no longer. It was only by a miracle of the Seven that they escaped with their lives tonight. Brienne silently thanked the Warrior for blessing her sword with their blood as she stoked the fire she started. She turned to Jaime and the pain on his face tore a hole through her heart, guilt coursed through her as she looked at him.

"Don't" he managed to say.

"Jaime, I…"

"Please not another rambling apology. I understand you had no choice, and besides," he said shifting to find a position that didn't hurt his every bone, "You didn't really betray me, not in the end."

He gave her a lopsided smile as relief flooded her intense blue eyes.

"Come here Wench," he said in his mockingly tender way, "Come tend to my wounds, kiss them and make it better."

It was still a surprise to Jaime when the Maid (no longer) of Tarth responded to him. Brienne took off her soiled cloak and laid Oathkeeper upon it within easy reach and knelt beside him.

She started with the bruise over his eye, her kiss feather light for a woman her size. But then, Jaime mused, thinking back on their time in Harrenhal, she was always gentle with him. His thick lashes fluttered over her battered skin as his eyelids came to a close.

Brienne moved then to the scrapes on the side of his face, two deep red lines begging for her healing touch. Her lips barely touched them before she found the courage to grow bold, the tip of her tongue coming out to follow the scratches, tracing them as if they were roads on a map leading home, and perhaps they were, if home meant comfort.

Jaime winced but his hands came out to cup her face, her skin flushed still with shyness, her scarred cheek rough but warm against his palm. She pulled them away and carefully eased his arms back to the sides of his beaten body. She would comfort him tonight for a change.

Next, Brienne paid detailed attention to his mouth. She traced its outline, curved up slightly at the corners with mild amusement at her attentions. The split lip was swelling slightly as she put her full mouth over it, wetting and tasting the dried blood upon it. Jaime took a sharp intake of breath as she leaned her weight lightly over him. He caught her bottom lip between his lips, his tongue gliding over her prominent front teeth for a second before she pulled back. He groaned from frustration but she mistook it for pain.

"Don't worry," she whispered into his ear before noticing more bruising. She touched it, caressing the blue, purple along his jaw line tenderly with her long, thick finger, "I will be gentle with you Ser."

He laughed until she lifted the tunic over his head. He never realized just how much work it would be to lift his arms.

"You can lie back now," Brienne reassured him, guiding him down, her large hand cradling his head softly to be sure he wouldn't hurt himself. Sinking softly into the fur, Brienne proceeded to undress Jaime, sliding his breeches over his tired legs. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling as her course hair tickled his muscular thighs.

She sat up to inspect him.

Purple and green are colours she'll never like again as they cover his skin, the sides of his ribs, the expanse of his broad chest. He breathes in and out, sharp little gasps as she buries her face in his arms, a tear rolling down her eyes and falling upon the spot over his heart.

"It's alright, I'm here, I'm right here," he soothes her.

She rubs her eyes furiously, she is angry with herself; she is supposed to be taking care of him, not the other way around. But it is Jaime who takes her hand from her eyes and kisses the torn flesh of her knuckles before closing his own eyes again as she straddles him.

Brienne needs this, more so than Jaime, she thinks. She needs to feel him strong and hard inside her. But she doesn't understand, Jaime thinks as they begin to move as one, she's still so broken inside from years of taunting and being the brunt of men's jabs; Jaime needs this too. He needs to feel her flesh open and wanting, to know he is the one, no other, no one else who can make her sigh and break with pleasure upon him.

"Jaime," she cries, riding him fast but carefully so as not to come down too hard on his battered body. His fingers tangle in her straw coloured hair, too caught up in their moment, their pleasure to feel the pain his body will scream at him later.

"Brienne," he sighs into her shoulder as the fire crackles and pops in the night.


End file.
